For the vaguest moment it seemed all rational thought had left the building. Or was it just the residual hangover?
There was this feeling as though none of this was really real.
Like it wasn’t really happening. Like those dreams where things happen out of sequence or in the locations make no sense. Suspend belief. Just go with it.
So it must be an elaborate dream— and those shots ….shots? hadn’t they done them? He looked so good standing there looking at her in that way, he looked different. Not like how he looked when he was a student ….
Not a student ….what gave it away? The facial scruff ….
“Diandra ….” his expression was impossible to read but he moved closer to her but stopped himself and half laughed, “guess you’re not ready to get your things at the hotel?”
He could very well have been speaking Swahili for all she knew what he was talking about
And he moved a bit closer still,
“maybe that’s because all your clothes are back there—haven’t we done this before?” Greg moved closer still until he had reached the bed where she was now sat up looking at him, just the vaguest modest awareness to lift the sheet across her already exposed nakedness
But it’s a dream right ….? Like her losing her job and Imogene’s wedding ….
wait thst was ….that part was real …. And Greg? —he looked so good standing there looking at her in that way he always did on the playground when they’d meet sometimes by chance there and her still inebriated mind told herself: this was not really happening
“How funny,” Diandra said in reply and reached for the edge of his shirt to pull him closer
“What are you doing?” he said as he pretended to lose his balance and fell on top of her
“I thought you’d never ….” she said undoing his trousers
And it was the feel of him in her hands that awoke Diandra to the realization thst this was definitely not a dream
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